


A Considerable Feat

by elefseus (oscillos)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Foot Fetish, Foot Jobs, M/M, No Beta, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, look it is what it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 05:52:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16759225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oscillos/pseuds/elefseus
Summary: Connor indulges a whim, Hank gets carried away.





	A Considerable Feat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fantastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantastic/gifts).



> i offer no excuses

Connor starts to pull his legs toward his body, presumably to make more room for Hank on the couch, but is stopped when Hank wraps one of his hands around the android's ankles, holding his suspended leg in place. Connor stares at him owlishly, LED flickering yellow before it goes back to blue. Hank stares hard and swallows.

"What are you wearing?" Hank grunts, a frown playing at his mouth.

"You know I do the laundry on Fridays," Connor blinks. He's wearing one of Hank's old dress shirts and some briefs— that's it.

Hank's eyes roam up the length of Connor's legs, from his petite ankles up to the bare back of his thighs, and finally, between his legs, his stupid tiny briefs revealed from the tilt of his legs upward.

"Laundry, huh," Hank pulls his eyes away two-seconds too slow to not feel like a pervy old man.

"Yes." Connor pulls his leg lightly, clearly testing Hank's grip. Hank tightens it a little in response, pressing his thumb to the bone of his ankle, rubbing it gently.

"Why...?" Connor questions, brows turning upward and into that stupid, doe-eyed look that never fails to drag him in.

" _Really_ , Connor?" Hank raises a brow.

"Is what I'm wearing that much of a problem?" Connor questions a little louder, but the corner of his mouth is twitching. This little shit.

Hank makes a showy, contemplative sound, giving him a long look... and then raises Connor's ankle a little higher to press a closed kiss to it— just to see what would happen.

His LED turns _red._ It's a better reaction than Hank could have ever asked for— the other's eyes go wide, his leg stiffening beneath his hold, his gaze set first on the lieutenant's mouth before darting up to his eyes, which Hank has raised toward him.

Connor's lips part soundlessly. Hank feels more incentivized by the silence than he likely should, and tests an open kiss, this time, over the rise of his ankle. The android doesn't move. Hank looks down at the slim leg in his grasp, and brings his other hand up to cradle Connor's heel, testing another kiss— open, a brush of tongue to the warm synthetic flesh, met with a shiver in response.

"Hank..." Comes softly from his peripheral, and Hank tilts his face to the side so he can look at him while still mouthing at the space where Connor's ankle meets the top of his foot.

Connor's shoulders are drawn up, both of his arms straight at his sides, hands braced on the couch. His eyes are still very wide— his LED cycling yellow, then back to red when Hank presses the flat of his tongue to his skin, sweeping his lips around it with the lightest drag of teeth, as if he were taking a bite out of a very juicy fruit.

Very, very slowly, Connor reaches up to cover his open mouth, eyes still wide.

Tenderness swells in Hank's chest at the realization there are still ways to surprise Connor, after all this time. It isn't _just_ affection, though— he's starting to feel a little hot under the collar for more reasons than one, wishing he'd taken off his damn jacket before sitting down next to his stupid hot, barely clothed android roommate-slash-boyfriend.

...But there's no way he's stopping now, not when the barest of tremors travels down Connor's leg as Hank laves his tongue over the top of his foot and to his ankle, the look in his narrowing eyes turning darker by the second.

Hank lets one of his hands drift up the underside of Connor's leg to press gently under his half-bent knee, leaving the other to support his heel, which fits perfectly in the open palm of his right hand. Rubbing circles in the softer flesh above his knee, he notes Connor doesn't try to pull his leg away again... but the shivers increase as Hank continues to bathe his skin in affection.

"Not like you to be so quiet," Hank murmurs to wet skin, knowing Connor can see the smirk across his mouth before he presses it again to the top of his foot, kissing down its length.

"I'm distracted," Connor responds lightly with a hint of affront that travels up to his furrowed brows, voice muffled by his own palm, "What you're doing is very...strange."

"Strange," Hank snorts, brushing his fingertips in place along the underside of the arch of Connor's foot, "S'that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"You're becoming aroused," Connor says, instead, taking a visible breath that he doesn't need, "Your body temperature is rising, your—"

"I know I'm a dirty old man, _Connor,"_ Hank interrupts, pinching the sensitive flesh of the underside of Connor's thigh, his beard rubbing lightly against the damp skin of his foot, "I meant _you."_

Connor hesitates, his eyes going first to Hank's hands, then his crotch— where he's starting to get visibly hard— then back to his face.

"I...," Connor starts, and Hank presses his teeth to the top of his foot, Connor's leg jerking in his hand as he lets out a tiny gasp, " _Hank_ —"

Hank lets him go. Connor drops his foot to the couch as well as his hand, revealing the flush of his face, his still-parted lips. He's sulking, the lieutenant realizes, which in all honesty only turns him on faster.

Slowly, Hank picks up Connor's other heel, making eye contact with him as he gently draws it toward him, running a hand down the neglected skin, squeezing his thigh. Connor's eyes go hazy when Hank presses his lips to the top of his heel, giving it a similar amount of affection.

"I suppose I just don't, _ah_ ," Connor trails off with a sound of affectation when Hank's beard scratches against his skin, "I don't understand why you want to... kiss there, of all places. It doesn't hold any particular relevance, and you know I don't have the same erogenous zones as humans."

"You're overthinking it," Hank says immediately with another kiss, continuing more roughly, digging his fingertips into Connor's thigh, "Like I wouldn't do this to any part of you."

"Oh," Is all Connor says, breathless, in realization.

It's true. Hank would gladly drain himself fucking dry kissing every inch of this stupid, perfect, beautiful— but most importantly, _Connor's—_ body, if given the chance. He'd worship him physically until his last breath, if he could; just as he did behind the rusty shutters of his heart already, most poignantly on nights he awoke with the android nestled against his chest in stasis, or the times he was awake, watching Hank dream, about him. 

—But, he's human. He's human, and he's /weak/ in a way he has a hard time believing Connor can match, for all their similarities, now apparent in the thickening of his cock in his jeans, the tightness of his fingers against the android's thigh.

Connor doesn't add anything else, at first, but the change between them is immediately perceivable. 

Watching him with darkening eyes, his brows turned up in that way others might improperly construe as upset (but Hank knows different), Connor shifts down just barely where his back is pressed to the arm of the couch, extending his leg into Hank's grip.

It isn't even an extra inch. It's the gesture that gets him, something almost shy, but determined, in the way Hank is determined. His cock twitches in his pants the same as his heart clenches. He kisses Connor's skin again, open-mouthed and messy, dragging his tongue in a stripe along its side, rubbing his thumb along its underside.

Connor's hands slowly press to the flat of the couch cushions, his fingertips digging in at the edges. Hank looks at him, then presses his lips to the inner-side of his foot, at sucks against the skin lightly. He chases it with the open brush of his tongue over the spot, drawing the hand that had been playing at the android's thigh upward to cradle his foot in both hands. Connor goes still, but this time, it's to watch with open anticipation, chest rising and falling quickly.

Hank trails both of his thumbs alongside the bottom arch of Connor's foot, pressing firm circles up it, makes him wait for it, for a few seconds— then leans in to kiss the joint of one of his big toe. Connor gasps like he's ticklish— but a look at him confirms the heated look in his eyes, and a glance southward confirms that his briefs are starting to tent. Hank is sure it's painfully obvious now how hard he is, but he doesn't check, instead scattering kisses along the knuckles of the android's toes, brief but reverent.

"Hank," Connor says, breath and affected, and for a second, Hank thinks Connor wants him to stop, "I..."

Connor pushes himself down a little more against the couch, bracing against his shoulder-blades, and gently unfurls his other leg, inching his foot over Hank's knee, distractedly up his thigh. Hank's stomach clenches— it's probably evident in his hold on Connor's foot, too— as the android's sole moves to press over the blatant rise of Hank's erection through his pants, gently rubbing down against it.

"Hank, you know I," He starts again, rubbing his foot gently over the form of Hank's cock through his pants, the pseudo-muscles of his legs tensing, and Hank groans under his breath when Connor continues, "I feel the same way about you..."

"Fuck," Hank swears under his breath as Connor finds the slant of his dick, rubbing the arch of his foot against it, slow and steady. He shifts where he's seated, helping Connor find the right angle, who pulls his own lip into his mouth, biting gently as his toes graze over the stubble of Hank's cheek. 

Hank notices, of course. He rubs his cheek gently against the side of Connor's foot, whose foot rubbing over Hank's lap tenses with a soft, nearly inaudible whine slipping from his lips.

"Don't tell me androids can get ticklish," Hank chuckles, grazing the tip of his thumb alongside the underside of Connor's sole for good measure. Surprisingly, Connor doesn't kick him in the balls, and instead just grips the couch cushions, a strained look crossing his face.

"No," Connor huffs, eyes elsewhere as he digs the ball of his foot into the space between Hank's legs, rubbing the top of his foot over his fly, which prompts a twitch of Hank's hips into the movement, "I...liked it."

Oh. Oh, that's something. 

"Did you, now," Hank murmurs, voice thick, and with a moment's thought, leans in to brush his lips over the arch of Connor's toes again, watching the android's face as his tongue flicks out to dart against the open space between his big toe and the join of the others to his foot. 

He has to hold Connor's leg in place with how hard he jerks at the motion, the android's hand closest to the couch backing darting up to fist at his mouth, his back curving slightly off the couch. 

"Yes," Connor hisses lightly through his teeth and nods, distracted, his brows screwed up, "Feels good."

Hank's dick throbs from the acknowledgment where it's squashed up against the inside of his pants and beneath Connor's foot. Fuck. Shit. He sucks in a shallow breath and grazes a kiss along the top of Connor's toes again, lapping at the jut of his tendons where they tense as the android curls his toes, his faux muscles bunching up from his ankle all the way up his thighs.

The flattening of his legs has revealed where Hank's baggy shirt has draped open over his thighs and belly exposing the round press of his erection beneath his briefs, his hips twitching upward in little motions.

Without warning, Hank takes Connor's pinkie toe in his mouth, laving his tongue along its underside.

"Shit," Connor grits under his breath as he throws his head back, the motion jutting out his ribcage against the loose shirt, "Hank—"

"Yeah, you like that, huh," Hank murmurs without thinking, then moves onto his next toe, flicking his tongue up its underside before teasing at the tight space between them. Connor moans weakly, and Hank catches an aborted thrust into the air out of the corner of his eye, his heel holding hard against Hank's crotch, "Connor."

Hank holds up Connor's foot under his arch with one hand, while his other slides down the narrow jut of his ankle, tensing around it. He holds it in place as he kisses the fleshy underside of Connor's foot, just below his toes, before lapping his tongue upward, circling of the pad of his pointer-toe. There's a direct correlation between the enthusiasm of Hank's actions and of Connor's reactions, he notices, realizing it isn't just the act itself that's riling Connor up.

It's him. It's Hank's reverence. His shamelessness. _His_ arousal. And fuck, if that doesn't stoke a fire in Hank's belly that he knows won't disperse until he's made Connor _scream_ from it.

Tilting his face, Hank takes Connor's pointer-toe into his mouth, all the way to its base, until his other toes are scrabbling weakly against his beard, and sucks on it. Rubs his tongue against it. Teases the underside with a hard motion— the same he uses when he sucks Connor's dick— and pulls back with his lips wrapped around it, purposefully grazing his teeth against it on its way off.

But he doesn't stop there. He moves back to Connor's big toe, teasing the pad with his tongue, pulling it into his mouth and gently bobbing his head. The motion isn't lost on Connor, given by the sharp sound he makes, and it isn't on the lieutenant either, who can't help but rut up into the other's motionless foot a little, almost painfully stiff in his jeans. When Hank moves back, he gently bites the soft pad of Connor's big toe, moving down to do the same to the outer ball of his foot.

"Hank," Connor's hips rub in place against the couch cushions, trapped in place and now resting on his elbows with his head back. He swears again, low, "Shit..."

Hank chuckles against the other's skin, and Connor lifts his head, looking affronted— but in the horniest way possible, all flushed, his lip reddened from where he'd been biting it.

"Don't tease me," He chides, breathily, and rubs his heel against Hank's straining dick, "You like it too."

"Yeah, I do," Hank doesn't hide it, reaching down with the hand not supporting Connor's leg to hold his other foot against his package, trapping it against his dick, moving his sole up against the tent in his pants forcefully until Connor has no choice but to watch it, "You feel that, Connor?"

Connor bites his lip again, letting Hank grind his foot against his dick, knuckles going white against the edge of the couch.

"Take your penis out," Connor pants, low but firm, and presses his elevated foot forward until it's resting against Hank's chin, "I want to touch you."

"Fuck," Hank leans against Connor's foot, the other's toes flattening against his face as he glances down to where the android's opposite foot is insistently pressing to his crotch, verifiably in disbelief of the circumstances despite some of the more /out there/ things they've done in the past. But it doesn't deter him— in fact, it only spurs him on, grinds up something deep in his hips that goes beyond just _getting off_ and into the realm of wanting to get _closer._ Wanting to experience everything he could, with Connor. Anything he wanted, anything.

For the first time since this had started, Hank shifts position to throw a knee up onto the couch, the movement caging Connor into the already cramped space, who splays his legs apart to make room, only making clearer the insistent press of Connor's dick against his briefs. Hank fumbles with his belt and pants in sheer arousal, shoving his jeans down to his thighs, breathing hard.

"You're hot," Connor comments with a lust-flustered smile pulling at the corners of his mouth at his own double entendre, pointing his toes to push his foot under the edge of Hank's jacket, running it up the front of his shirt and toward his opposite shoulder, "Take this off."

Hank blinks at him. He takes his jacket off, tossing it over the edge of the couch somewhere, but his eyes are on Connor— Connor, splayed beneath him, slumped unceremoniously against the arm of the couch, his hair mussed, in Hank's oversized shirt that he _knows_ needs an undershirt, (not just because it's his, but also from the pink suggestion of Connor's nipples visible beneath it) and his pale thighs spread, for him.

For _him_. It's what hits him the hardest, every time.

Hank takes hold of Connor's raised ankle to press a kiss to the jut of bone there, his eyes cast downward, hot and heavy. Connor's eyes burn into his just as intensely. Hank reaches down blindly to push his boxers out of the way, the garment bunching up at his thighs as his dick is finally free to stand at full mast, stiff and red and wet at the tip. 

He leans down to brush a palm over Connor's lean stomach, pushing the oversized shirt over the jut of his hip to reveal where the swell of his dick is visible, trapped against his briefs, a distinctly wet spot where he's _leaking,_ he's so into it, fuck.

"Beautiful," Hank mutters, reaching for the edge of Connor's briefs, who stops him with a hand at his forearm.

"No," Connor says, and Hank can't beat down the confusion that passes his expression until Connor is raising the foot not held loosely in the lieutenant's grasp to run it up his bare thigh, before darting in, pressing gently at the soft space between Hank's dick and the V of his waist, kneading, "Like this, Hank."

Hank is absolutely certain the twitch his dick gives now is visible from space by NASA, on a cloudy day. It's the eye of a roving storm about to hit, except it's his cock. Connor smiles.

"Shit," He grabs a fistful of himself, sucking in a breath through his teeth, "You sure?"

"Yes," Connor breathes in deeply, licking his lips, and then Hank's heart nearly gives out, the battered thing, "Please."

"Uh, how should I..." Hank draws his hand back, Connor's fingertips grazing his arm until their fingertips meet, hooking around each other. Connor lets go to push his hands back on the couch, sitting up—

—to abruptly take Hank's dick into his mouth with a soft _mm_ , firmly answering his question. 

"Fuck," He groans, and presses a hand into the other's hair, watching him try to fit it all into his mouth, "Connor..."

Connor looks up at the sound of his name, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head to accommodate for Hank's height and still meet his gaze. When he manages it, Connor hums around his dick, the vibration that makes its way into the pit of Hank's stomach only a step more effective than the bleary, hot look on his face as he guides Hank's dick around in his mouth, rolling his tongue beneath it.

"Look at you," Hank murmurs, cradling Connor's face with one hand, pressing it to the back of his neck to hold him in place, their eyes still locked together. He feels so _wet._ Connor sits and waits, Hank's arousal pressing down the flat of his tongue, resting a palm against Hank's thigh, the other straight behind his back to support himself. He's all but bent in half on the couch to take Hank's dick, right now, saliva (or the Android equivalent, anyway) dripping down the side of his mouth, and yet, he can wait.

Hank brushes his thumb over Connor's blue LED, then uses his grip on the back of the android's neck to pull his face forward, pushing his dick deep into Connor's mouth and to the back of his throat.

"Mmn—," Connor's LED blares _red_ for a second, his eyes going wide at the thick intrusion, but he's soon releasing a muffled, pleased moan, eyelids fluttering shut as Hank uses his slick mouth, slowly rolling his hips back and forth. He strokes over Connor's stretched cheek, who nuzzles into his hand, opening his eyes narrowly to cast him a look that sends a hot jolt of need up Hank's spine, almost certainly felt in the twitch of his dick against Connor's tongue.

Connor only pulls back when Hank drops his hand, the sound of his dickhead popping out of his lips wet and obscene, just like the contented, impressed purr the android makes up at him after. 

Hank licks his lips. His dick is coated in Connor's lubrication fluid, some of it dripping down his sack and beading at his inner thigh. Taking a breath to collect himself, he reaches down to gently shove Connor down by the center of his chest, who falls onto his back on the couch, one leg still raised from where his ankle is supported in Hank's hand. 

Now, though, there's no playful smirk playing at Connor's mouth, or in the curve of his eyes. No— Connor's synthetic pupils are blown wide enough to see a hint of the reticles behind them, his face slack, lips parted and panting, waiting.

Yanking Connor's ankle up toward his face again, Hank presses a kiss to its lateral joint, trailing open lips to the top of his feet before circling under, smaller pecks dotting the underside of his toes, before he's licking a long stripe down the entire arch of the bottom of his foot. 

Connor makes a weak noise at the brazenness of the action, his fingers curling over his palms where they rest open on either side of his head, but Hank doesn't stop, moving his lips and tongue against his soft sole with audible sounds, sucking tightly at the highest point of his arch.

"Hank," Connor whines breathlessly, hips twitching in place, "More."

Wordlessly, Hank leans down to pick up Connor's other ankle, lifting it from where the android had spread his legs on either side of him. He gives it a similar treatment to the first— slow, soft kisses that steadily become messier as Hank is egged on by Connor's reactions. He pushes a kiss over the arch of his tendons, then circles around his pinky toe with his tongue before pressing a tight line between two of them, meeting Connor's eyes as he wedges it between the tight curve of his bent toes, the skin visibly damp.

Connor's legs start trembling. 

Hank is aching to be touched, his slick cock hanging heavy in the air as he rubs his fingers into the other's damp skin, but he ignores direct gratification and instead touches his teeth to the thinner flesh along the arch of his foot, sucks at it until the android keens. It's something quiet and strained, Connor's head thrown to the side, showing off the blaring brightness of his LED cycling from blue to yellow, and one of his hands begins to crawl down his body toward the visible mound between his twitching legs.

" _Connor_ ," Hank commands, tightening his fingers around his ankles, and Connor's hand freezes. 

He lifts his face to throw a cursory glance at the lieutenant, but something he sees morphs the look into one of understanding and _heat_ , his hand instead digging into the cushions beside him. Maybe it's the heft of lust on Hank's face, dark and drawn up between his brows, dotting his skin with sweat. Or maybe it's the harsh jut of his cock in the air, purpling at the tip and still coated in Connor's spit. Whatever the reason, the hesitation turns into frantic obedience when Hank draws one of Connor's feet downward, bending his knees to better move them toward his arousal— but not before leaning over to kiss the exposed jut of his hip, then his bare, tense thigh.

"Please," Connor whispers urgently from above, and Hank hears his hands tensing against the couch, "I need you to— _Oh._ "

He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale as Hank sits back on his haunches, pressing the inner curve of Connor's right foot to his dick.

"Need me to what?" Hank grunts, a distracted smirk yanking up one corner of his reddened mouth, and after a few seconds of watching— _feeling—_ Connor's sole glide against him, he raises Connor's other foot, sandwiching it against the opposite side of his cock with a rough groan. Fuck, it feels good; the soles of Connor's feet are soft and warm and it's so hot in some nebulous way, like a forbidden concept he shouldn't be indulging in, but can't feel (much) guilt over when Connor's enthusiasm is so goddamn sincere. 

Their little secret.

It makes Hank want to mark every inch of him, starting _here._

"That," Connor starts softly, his eyes narrowed on the sight of his own pale feet wrapped around the flustered length of Hank's dick before looking up at him, brows raised in almost incredulity, "It's..."

"You like it?" Hank cradles Connor's heels and the back of his ankles and tightens the push of his feet against his dick, a little faster. Connor nods jerkily, looking from Hank's dick bobbing between the soles of his feet to Hank's face and back again, his LED cycling yellow and breath coming hard. 

He spreads his legs to accommodate for the angle in a way that makes Hank dizzy, now pulling tightly at his cock, feet half curled over his length as he pushes the crown of his dick through them. Pleasure throbs in the pit of his belly, sending small jolts of heat to where Connor's feet are pressed, all of it twisting that coil that winds tighter and tighter the longer he's touched.

"Fuck... Look how good you take it, Connor," Hank groans, separating Connor's feet to rub the underside of his toes over the tip, smearing a bead of pre-ejaculate across them before forcing the head between Connor's big toe and his next, giving a half-thrust upward. 

He can only fit through them partway, the space is too small— Connor moans low, sitting up on his elbows to watch, the red fluster to Hank's skin a sharp contrast to his own where they meet.

"Does it... does feel good?" Connor murmurs in question heatedly, but Hank recognizes it for what it is, what Connor wants to hear. What he'll always tell him, because it's true.

"Yeah," Hank groans thickly, shifting the angle of Connor's feet to rub his dick between them lengthwise, the android's toes partially curling over the head as he moves them up and down, "'Feels fuckin' perfect."

Connor clearly responds to _perfect_ , his hips twitching in place against the couch, grinding his hips in place, the movement drawing attention to the tight tent in his briefs, the dark spot where he's leaking growing visibly.

"Can I..." Connor starts, eyes dark on his own, and he bites his lip before taking on a surer tone that never fails to push Hank's libido to eleven and beyond, "Let me do it."

A throb of arousal pulses right to Hank's dick. And despite the fact he's been sitting here jerking himself off with his android boyfriend's feet for several minutes, it still makes him swallow in horny disbelief. Yeah, he...he could do that.

"Yeah," Hank mutters breathlessly, slowly dropping his hands and watching Connor move his feet of his own volition, rubbing the length of his soles along Hank's dick on either side. _Fuck_ if it doesn't feel ten times better having Connor do it himself, a look of reckless determination crossing the android's flushed face.

Connor tenses his legs, twisting his feet in opposite directions gently, losing his (foot) grip just a few times, of which the clumsiness somehow only makes it hotter, leaving Hank groaning under his breath, "Good boy, look at you."

"Hank..." Connor moans quietly, rubbing the underside of his toes and the fleshy pad of their base over the head of Hank's dick before holding them tightly together, now swaying his legs at the knee. Through his mounting pleasure, Hank can see the twitch of Connor's hips move in time with the thrust of his own feet, simulating... simulating what, Hank fucking him? Taking him the same way he does now? —In tighter, harder movements that leave Hank grabbing the side of the couch to stabilize his weakening knees, breathing hard, his heart racing...

"God, Connor," Hank groans, open-mouthed with his chin tucked to his chest, the rush of his eventual euphoria building up behind his hips, filling his head with a dense fog that tunneled his attention to only Connor's slim body twisted beneath him. He finally gives in and bucks his hips into the motion of the other's soles, his cockhead obscenely shiny with the mixture of Connor's lubrication fluid and his own precum. Connor's enthusiasm is enough to drive him crazy, but it's not enough to give Hank what he _needs,_ so he _takes_ it.

Hank wraps his hands around both of Connor's ankles and yanks them down, roughly pushing his dick through the tight space offered to him. 

"Touch yourself," He grits, thrusting hard enough that Connor gasps below him, his LED flickering red for a brief second before he's scrambling to obey.

"Hank," Connor's voice hitches and buzzes mechanically at the edges, caught in an urgent daze that leaves him partially collapsing against the couch to throws a hand downward, rubbing his open palm over his arousal through his briefs, without looking, "Hank, _f_...fuck me-"

The couch creaks as Hank hunches down, one foot connecting with the floor beside the couch to give him the leverage needed to fuck into Connor's tight embrace, fast, disjointed movements that rub the ridge of his cock _just_ right against the slight give of the android's sole and toes.He's half-crouched over Connor's lower half by now, panting and gripping the other's ankles and heels hard enough to leave a slight indentation where they meet, the wet slap of flesh to the facsimile of flesh fast and violent.

"Yes," Connor urges, collapsing onto the couch completely when he needs to throw a hand up and above his head to grip at the arm of the chair, his other grinding into his crotch and over his trapped and previously neglected erection. His face is screwed up into pleasure, but not just that— it's a look Hank recognizes as fraught with the need to— to satisfy _him_ , the evidence of its effect on himself clear in the dart of his tongue against his lips, the red-yellow-blue flash of his LED, lubrication drooling out of the corner of his open mouth.

"Hank, _p—l **e** ——a **s** e,_" Connor pleads, voice glitching out midway, a few spots on his body flickering to white then back to skin like a broken projector, and _that's_ what does it. 

Connor, at his most desperate and selfishly devoted, for him.

"Shit—" Hank hisses, feeling that band wound tightly in his gut snap, and he groans and reels back, thick, white flecks of cum streaking Connor's belly, his thigh and the soles of his feet. He holds them stiffly in place, like that, the hard twitches of pleasure that seize him and shake his body culminating into a sticky mess that leaks through the android's toes, shiny and translucent as it slowly drips beyond, to where Connor is half-watching him, enraptured, half-writhing as his hand moves quickly over the front of his briefs.

" _Lieu_ , H-ha-," Connor wheezes mechanically, his eyes unfocused, " _Hank_ —"

Caught up in the after-bursts of his peak and Connor's cresting euphoria, Hank groans, the sound carnal when he yanks one of the android's legs toward his face, meeting his pleasure-fogged eyes with his own before laving his tongue over the cum-streaked sole of his foot; gathering it upon his tongue, sucking at the space in between. It sets Connor over the edge, who jerks in place beneath him— spilling messily inside his briefs— uncharacteristically loud beneath the forearm now thrown halfway over his face, his eyes screwed up as if straddling that razors-edge between pleasure and pain. It's intense, something to behold, and as much of a (very much pleasant) surprise for Hank as it appears to be for Connor.

Hank continues to press messy kisses to the underside of Connor's foot as he twitches and finally sags beneath him, his LED an only _mildly_ concerning red given the slackness of his body, arms going limp over his own chest and the edge of the couch. Rubbing circles over the ball of Connor's heel, Hank _kisses_ more than licks up the remaining semen dotting the gaps between the curled digits, finally pressing his lips soft and still against one of their arches when his love's eyelids crack open a fraction.

"Well," Connor pants at length, a tiny, breathy laugh passing his flushed lips, accompanying the weary smile Hank can't help but reach down to brush his thumb against fondly.

"Well?" Hank echoes back with a rueful smile, grunting as Connor all but rolls off the couch to make room for him to collapse in the freed space with an _oof._ He's about to crack a joke about how sweaty he is and how he's probably going to have cramps in weird places for days when Connor kneels over him.

"Well..." Connor repeats, collapsing against Hank's sweat-damp shirt with his bare legs draped over the lieutenant's equally bare thighs, his hands flat against his shoulders, the cycling blue LED visible in his peripheral slowly stilling to a true-blue. He nestles his face into Hank's jawline, humming. Hank doesn't need to see the smirk on Connor's mouth to sense it from the look in the other's eyes, cast up at him.

"Well _what,_ Con?" Hank raises a tired, vaguely suspicious brow, leaning back into the chair-arm somewhat to confirm the other's sly smile before continuing, "I got something on my face? ...Besides, well— _uhh_... y'know."

Connor doesn't blink, because he doesn't need to. He does smile a little wider, however, the action crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"I do the laundry on Fridays."

"What?"

"I said," Connor traces a fingertip across Hank's collarbone, where it peeks from the top of his skewed shirt, "I do the laundry on _Fridays."_

_"_ So what?" Hank questions, not needing to be told that shirt is probably ruined, and not caring, either. Absolutely worth it, ten out of ten, would ruin again.

Connor looks at him and blinks, slowly but purposely, "...It's Saturday, Hank."

It takes him a second.

"What? Why does that... _oh,"_ It takes him a second before Hank realizes what Connor fully _means_ — about wearing his fucking shirt, ' _oh, it's Laundry Day, Hank,'—_ he definitely hadn't said,—' _oh, my perfect gorgeous legs are on display while I laze around in your shirt, don't worry about it',_ and immediately seizes Connor's face, scrunching his fingers through his messy hair with a growl.

"I knew it, you little shit!"

"...Sorry, Hank."

" _Two_ lies in one night, Connor? You're _killin_ ' me, here."

"You're right... I'm not sorry," Connor smiles, "and for _that_ , I _do_ apologize."

Hank rolls his eyes, "Get off of me, you scheming... _schemer_ , you."

"I'm sorry, Hank," Connor blinks, "I regret to inform you that my arms and legs seem to be experiencing motor issues. Perhaps it's from the unexpected overstimulation of my—"

With a grimace, Hank grabs one of Connor's own damn hands from his chest and shoves it against his mouth, effectively silencing him. Connor doesn't move, just watching him with those doe-eyes, muffled by the back of his own hand but irritably patient.

...Hank is still glaring a few seconds later when he presses the first kiss to Connor's palm, soft, and slow.

**Author's Note:**

> ♫  
> how could this happen to me...  
> i made my mistakes...  
> i've got no where to run...  
> the night goes on...  
> ♫


End file.
